Ethan had never loved anyone, had never been able to, but he'd come closest with Ripper. Ripper, sweet gods, was beautiful and deadly and dark and everything, everything, he'd ever dreamed of, ever been able to dream of. Ripper had known pain and death and binding…
Sweet gods, he'd known binding! He'd bound Ethan to himself better than if he'd chained them together, better than if he'd used magic, just by being his dangerous, seductive self.
And then, one day, he'd left, gone. Ethan never knew why he'd left—he'd killed Randall, but Ripper had killed before, and it hadn't bothered him…maybe it was the reminder of his duties, that magic could be dangerous as well as wonderful, or maybe it was just that he'd never killed a magician before…
Ethan didn't know. He didn't care. Ripper was gone, and Ethan, tied to him by a bond that wasn't quite love, couldn't help but follow.
And Ripper changed, and hid himself, and became Rupert, Rupert bloody Giles, and Ethan hated Rupert, hated the tweed Watcher who took so much care never, ever to let Ripper go…
But he was still tied to Ripper, beautiful, beautiful Ripper, and Ripper was in Rupert, so he followed. And he couldn't stand to see Ripper hidden away, hidden from the world that should see his magnificence, and tremble, and hide, hide from the both, because if he ever could he'd join Ripper, and the world would shake in terror, and he'd be alive, really alive for the first time since Ripper stopped being Ripper.
And so he called Ripper up, out of the depths of Rupert's soul, in any way he could. The first time he'd done it, he'd used a spell, and, sweet gods, it had been worth the price he'd paid, later, to see Ripper come alive again, to see him loose, unbound, freed of the thin covering of Rupert—
But it couldn't last; it couldn't last forever, no matter how much he wanted it to. And when it was over, Rupert had been horrified, and he'd bought a charm to ensure that any spell of that sort could not affect him again. And Ethan had cursed, but he'd not been surprised, because behind the mask of Rupert there was Ripper, and Ripper was smart, more than smart, genius…
He'd had to work in more subtle ways. He watched, and when he'd seen Rupert had asked a girl out, he'd wanted to laugh and cry and vomit in equal measures. Ripper would never have taken her, all sweet and charming and not a drop of darkness in her veins, and female, too.
It was horrifying. But it was also useful, because he thought he knew how to get Ripper out know. And he'd been right. It had been easy, pathetically easy, to ensure that the drunk crashed his car into the girl who's name he didn't want to know, or to remember. And when it turned out that she was dead, that nothing could save her, not science, not magic…
He'd seen Ripper lurking in Rupert's eyes. And Ripper had come out, and the drunk was found, dead and tortured, the next morning.
Ethan had seen it happen, and this time he'd only wanted to laugh.
Rupert, of course, had been horrified, and had fled and confessed to a fellow Watcher, and Ethan, watching them, had sneered.
But Rupert had learned his lesson, and he was careful, too careful, damnit!, not to become attached like that, not to anyone.
But Ethan was still bound, and still followed, and sometimes, Ripper would come out to play, and the world would be beautiful again…
But these moments grew rarer, and rarer, and finally stopped. Rupert had, it seemed, learned how to control his inner demon.
And without seeing Ripper, the tie had faded, faded until Ethan could leave and pretend that he didn't feel regret.
He'd walked away, and travelled, and performed chaos spells, and learned new ones, and if Ripper had been there it would have been perfect, but it wasn't, because even the high of magic failed to compare to the high of Ripper.
He didn't know why he'd gone to the Hellmouth. Intuition, maybe? Maybe not. After all, the Hellmouth was quite a chaotic place, a wonderful place for a mage in the service of Janus.
No, why lie? He knew exactly why. He'd heard the Slayer was there, and where there was a Slayer, there was a Watcher, and that's what Ripper's costume was. It hadn't been likely, had been nearly impossible, but the possibility had tormented his thoughts, and hadn't let him be, and, unable to resist the hope, he'd gone…
And his hopes had been well rewarded, because Rupert was there, and he seemed to have forgotten the lesson Ethan had taught him, because he was devoutly attached to the Slayer, and her friends, and even the students of the school where he worked—as a librarian, godsdamnit—and Ethan knew that Ripper was that much closer to the surface, that much closer to breaking through the thin veneer of civility that was Rupert.
He'd thought about it. It hadn't been too hard, really; everyone knew that no one went anywhere for Halloween, and so that was the night that Rupert would be the least prepared for an injury to occur. From there, the plan had unfolded swiftly, easily, beautifully.
He'd set up the shop—it had been easy, ridiculously easy, to persuade the Slayer to wear a noblewoman's dress, a noblewoman unable to protect herself, and certainly ignorant of vampires. The rest, he hadn't really cared about—he'd cause chaos, and Ripper would tear Rupert off, and come out to play…
He said the incantation, completed the spell. Everyone turned into the costume they were wearing, and he smirked, satisfied, and waited…
He wasn't disappointed. Rupert came in—but no, it wasn't Rupert, sweet gods it was Ripper—and he'd have wept with joy, if he'd been the person to do that sort of thing, because the person he didn't love was there, free, and just as beautiful and deadly as ever, even if he was wearing tweed.
He exchanged quips with Ripper, and could see the anger in his eyes, and nearly laughed when Ripper landed the first blow, because the tie that he'd tried to forget was back again, full force, and he'd never been so happy.
The pain was almost as exhilarating as the pleasure had once been, and he relished it with a strength he did not know he possessed. And maybe he was capable of falling in love, after all, because when Ripper punched him, again and again, Ethan was alive, at long, long last.
A/N: Hoo boy. D'you know, I expected this to be short? I mean, it is, but it's two-and-a-half pages. I was thinking less than one.
Anyways, I hope you like this. A great deal of my original fiction is in the same style, so feel free to check it out: my fictionpress profile is under the same username, Owl344. Some of my fanfiction is, too, though this is my first work in the Buffyverse.
To those who came here looking for an update of March to the Empire, I'm sorry I've taken so long, but I hope you enjoyed this (if you read it, anyways). Don't worry, another chapter should be out soon—no promises, though.
Oh yeah—I nearly forgot the disclaimer. None of this belongs to me, except for the actual writing; the universe in which I played in belongs to Joss Whedon, genius extraordinaire.